


Digital Confessions

by jlillymoon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:06:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jlillymoon/pseuds/jlillymoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Season 2, Pre Season 3<br/>Sherlock is "dead". John begins writing again and he finds out that Sherlock is alive and the find that their communication is more honest through digital format</p>
            </blockquote>





	Digital Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> Something I have been working on and off for a while. A little piece post season 2. What could have happened.

August 2, 2011  
I have started seeing Ella again. I know what you think about that. Therapy is nothing but a pseudo-science. But a month on from your jump, from your death and I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat. I was miserable and I decided to set up an appointment to see her. I’ve been going about once a week. This week she gave me a new assignment like the blog was supposed to be. A way to help me cope and she expects me to write down all the feelings I have about your death in a nice little letter and burn it. She thinks putting onto paper would be good. But after sitting at the table for an hour, a pen in my hand and blank paper staring back at me, I decided to go back to my roots in a way. Email. I could write down all the things that, well, make me feel like I do right now. Then save them neatly in my drafts folder and delete them in the future.  
At least that’s the plan.  
So, shall I begin? It’s wonderful in a way to get to say all the things that I want to say, and actually have the quiet to say them. Without you interrupting me and adding in your deductions. Just to talk, as it were. But it’s then that I note how much I miss you.  
After you threw away your phone the world stopped for a moment. Just stopped, like when you see a traffic accident in the cinema. Then all at once it speeds up again. By the time I got to you, you were gone. It hurt to watch my best friend jump to his death. I was worried that Moriarty had a gun trained on your back. And later, Mycroft told me that Moriarty was dead. I wanted to see his body and to put a few more bullets into it, to prove to myself that he was really gone. But when I got to St. Bart’s morgue, I found I couldn’t go through the doors. I kept expecting to see you around the corner.   
I’ve stopped favoring the places we have gone together like Angelo’s and that little Thai place around the bend. The park and NSY. It’s been too hard going to the places we have been together and not having you there. I’ve been so angry.  
Yes, angry Sherlock. Angry at you. Angry at Moriarty. Angry at Mycroft (although in my defense that’s my natural default with him.). But Angry with myself too. And yes, Angry with a capital A. Ella, thinks that this will help with the angry. To get me to move past it. Onto the next stage of grief.   
But the anger is stunting me.  
How dare you make me watch you jump! To make me listen to you give your note. And to leave me with all the press and the rest hovering around. I went back to the surgery last week. I needed to get some routine in my life again. God knows I didn’t have it with you.   
But it was life I loved. I miss the danger. I miss the excitement. The intrigue. And that brings me back to missing you. A big circle.  
But I want to leave you with this. I was never good in school. Not dumb by any means, I could hold my own. But I learned what an adjective is. And I am going to list all the adjectives that I could ever use to describe you.  
Selfish. Mean. Egocentric. Bull headed. Dick. Selfish. (oops. I used that one twice. But if the shoe fits…). Misogynistic. Greedy. Decadent. Wicked. Shameless. Appalling. Roguish. Intense. Brilliant. Amazing.   
Ah, sod it. You are still the most amazing person I know. Even if you aren’t here anymore. I miss you. I miss my friend.  
Yours~  
John

 

August 3, 2011  
Fucking bugger shit arse and hole! I meant to hit save not send. So, yesterday’s post went to your email I can only imagine what Mycroft or his minions think of that. I think that he still watches the website. I assume he does. So, Mycroft, if you are indeed watching this, bring me some more of those scones you brought last time you came to visit. The ones with the orange sugar. They were good.  
Well, all in all, I have to admit that Ella was right. I feel a bit better. It’s almost like I told you to your face what I was feeling. Maybe hitting send was better than save. Oh, well. Can’t undo it now.  
I don’t really feel like writing right now and I have to go to work.   
Yours~   
John

 

August 9, 2011  
Mycroft Holmes is a fucking tosser. There I said it. He showed up here earlier, with the scones and proceeded to collect a few of your things. Clothes. The violin. The blue dressing gown. The fucking skull. Not much in all reality. But enough to make it feel like you aren’t here anymore. It’s quieter now. And even though your books are still on the shelves and your papers on the desk, it’s not the same. It’s empty. Like Mycroft came and took the essence that is Sherlock Holmes away from Baker Street.  
At least your room still smells like you.  
Not that I have been spending time in your room. Just popped in the other day to get the washing. Before I realized that you weren’t there. Found myself staring at your bed for twenty minutes.  
Don’t read anything into that. I just got… well… stuck.  
Okay. I feel awkward now. Like I can feel your eyes on me. I better send this before it’s too late and I say something you would deduce further.  
Yours~  
John

 

August 22, 2011  
Haven’t had to the time to sit and write recently. Been really busy with work and moving. Yes, I moved. I couldn’t stand how quiet it became at Baker Street and how it felt more empty now. So, I decided to move. It was worth it in some respects, but in others it’s worse. I am basically back where I was before I met you. Alone. And Harry is no better. She and Clara have divorced properly now. My parents are gone. And speaking of parents, yours didn’t even show to the funeral. I asked Mycroft about it and he shrugged it off.  
Did you get along with them? It’s funny to think that in all the time we lived together, that I had never met them. I spoke to your Mum once on the phone. Did you know that? She seemed nice. But it was short and she rang off quickly to catch you on your mobile.  
I saw Molly today. I was at Bart’s to check on a patient and I ran into her in the canteen when I went to get a cup of tea. It was good to see her. But she took one look at me, hugged me and ran off crying. I decided that it would be too hard to talk and I left her be. I have plans to meet up with Greg in a few days for a pint or twelve. It’ll be good to see him, I think. I’m afraid that it will be hard too. But I can always drink until I’m numb. Not that I have been drinking a lot. Just, well, more than normally.  
So, other than that, there is not a damn thing going on in my life. Although I have felt or seen out of the corner of my eye a few CCTV cameras turn my way. I gave a few of them the finger. Fuck Mycroft.  
I’m going to turn in. Good night.  
Yours~  
John

 

August 25 (?), 2011  
I think it’s the 25th. I’m not sure. I can’t seem to see my watch properly. The damn thing is buggy. But then again my wrist keeps moving when I try to look at it. Met up with Greg tonight. Things were hard in the beginning. Then about six pints in, we started talking. Really talking. And you came up. I got angry again. Then sad. Really sad. We toasted you. Over and over again. Sad ones at first. Then we started telling stories. I never told him about you and sheet at the palace. He laughed about that. And he told me some stories about you before we met. Before long we were both cursing your name. With tears running down our faces. Like a couple of proper wankers.   
I should go. Drink some water. Take something for the headache that I will be waking up with.   
How dare you? How could you leave me? I thought you cared about me. I certainly care about you. I love you. You are my best friend. And now you are gone.  
Dick head. Wanker. Tosser. Arsehole. I hate you. I’m better off without you.  
Fuck off~  
John

 

August 26, 2011  
I’m sorry. I… I’m sorry. There is nothing more to say. Too many pints. Too many emotions. I’m just so done.

 

October 1, 2011  
I saw Ella today. She asked me about my letter and I told her the truth. She asked me to get back to my writing. I’ve thought about it. I even went as far as to open my email and just stared at the screen for hours. Wondering what I could say. I was drunk. Really drunk. I drank almost every night since then. Then when I almost didn’t wake up when I got sick, I booked another appointment with Ella. I am scared that I am turning into Harry. Following in our father’s footsteps. So. I decided that it was high time I got back to writing like this. And some other things, too.  
So, I shall tell you about my days then? I get up, make tea. Shower, go to work when I am on, after eating breakfast. Bring a sandwich for lunch. Pretend to be interested in the stories and the lives of the other people in the office. Finish my work. Go home. Heat up something for tea. Watch a bit of telly or read. Go to bed. Start it all over again in the morning. Boring. I know. You would be crawling out of your skin after just one day. If I’m off, I walk. I walk all around London. I got on a train a week ago and just rode around for a few hours. Watched the other people. Watched the families and wonder if that is in the cards for me.   
I’m a middle aged retired military doctor who works in a surgery. I used to run around London helping the only consulting detective solve crimes and capture criminals alongside the Met. But that’s all done. And I have been watching them drag your name through the papers. The press has had a field day with you. How you were a fake. Kitty Reilly. She should be drawn and quartered. Something. I’m sure Mycroft has a torture chamber in his house I could borrow for a few hours. Lestrade called me to let me know that there was an interview she did with Anderson. Like Anderson was such a close, personal friend. And what of Donovan you ask? She’s still around. Keeping her head down and trying not to make any waves.  
Got a little off topic, didn’t I? Sorry. It makes me so upset to see what they are doing to you and you aren’t here to defend yourself. But before I go back to my navel gazing, I want to tell you about something I saw yesterday on the tube. It was quick mind you and it was almost so fleeting I wasn’t sure I saw it at all. It was yellow. That much I’m sure of. After all the time of staring at the fucking smiling face on the wall, I could recognize that fucking yellow spray paint a mile off. And it was the same yellow. It said “I believe in Sherlock Holmes”. That’s it. Astounding.   
I think someone got the idea from my blog. So, where was I? Yeah, right. I was thinking about my life. I was thinking about kids and a wife and a dog and house in the suburbs. Maybe that’s what is left for me. There is no one like you and if I hadn’t run into Mike Stamford when I did my life would have been over. You both saved me from eating my gun. I was only hours away from it, really. There was nothing for me after coming home from the war.  
But I guess I’ve had my last hurrah before settling into a life of domestic tranquility.  
I’m off to bed. My leg hurts. Too many hours standing at work. And the walking isn’t helping. I’ve begun limping again. Just a bit.  
I miss you.~  
John

 

October 15, 2011  
Wow. Just wow. What a day.  
I was sitting in a café, eating a sandwich and a cup of tea. Nothing exciting, right? Well, this woman sitting next to me was just chatting with a friend when this kid, no more than nineteen really, came up and snatched her purse. Without so much as a second thought, I took off after him. He gave good chase for a bit, but I tackled him and called 999. Lestrade showed up. I hit the kid harder than I thought. I broke two of his ribs and tore up his knee pretty good. But that feeling. That glorious adrenaline flowing in my blood. I didn’t realize exactly how much I missed it.   
But at the same time it felt hollow. You weren’t there with me and there was no real danger. Just doing a good deed. But there was an empty space around me that you usually filled. And now, hours later, I feel deflated and empty. Lost. Like a ship unmoored..  
I feel that way more and more. Adrift. Empty. Depressing, isn’t it? But that’s it in a nutshell. I’m alone.  
Okay, enough Watson. Enough wallowing for the night. Time to sleep.  
You would have enjoyed the chase, though.  
Night~  
John

 

November 5, 2011  
Remember, remember the fifth of November.   
Stamford is dragging me out to a bonfire tonight. I’m fine with seeing him and his family. Just wished there was something else to do. Or someone else to be with.  
Interesting to think that I had gotten so used to being around you. Even when we didn’t talk or interact. We were there together. We fit in a way. We moved around each other like graceful creatures. ( Well, to be honest, more grace on your part. But we did well together.) We knew when the other needed quiet or we poked at things until we talked. But I think there was so much hidden underneath still.  
Fuck.  
I want to text you things all the time. To ask how things are or to tell you something I saw on the tube. Or to ask your opinion on dinner. To tell you a joke. To make sure that the flat is still standing.  
I miss our friends too. I miss Molly and the way she lit up when she saw you. I see Greg occasionally but I haven’t seen Mrs. Hudson. It’s way too hard. She’s too much like a mother. It’s too painful.  
Last time I saw her was just after I moved out. Mycroft sent me a text to tell me that they had placed your headstone and that I should go. I agreed and met Mrs. Hudson. We had tea and went to the cemetery. Black Granite. Just your name. Simple and dignified. Nothing flashy or sentimental in anyway. Mrs. Hudson gave “us” a few minutes alone. I made a little speech. I asked you to come back.  
But you aren’t coming back, are you? You can’t come back. Not from something like that. I saw you on the ground. The blood.  
I’ve been having nightmares again. On and off for some time. Not just Afghanistan, now. The pool too. But that’s not new. That one has been there for a while. But then there are the ones from the day you died. I can keep them further from my mind after I’ve written. It helps. And I have admit that at some point I need to deal with them. But a retired army doctor with PTSD and major trust issues, doesn’t deal. I just go on living.  
I’m tired Sherlock. So tired. I wish I could just rest for a while. Maybe I will.  
See you~  
John

 

November 20, 2011  
You never ever told me if it was heroin or cocaine. Not that it matters much. Both are bad. Just a thought.  
~John

 

December 6, 2011  
I don’t know how you found drugs peaceful. I have tried all kinds of things to sleep since I last wrote. Yes, I have slept. I admit that. But the after effects are truly horrible. Lethargy. Fatigue. Somnolence. Nothing pretty. Felt as if I was under water most of the time. And now, five days off, I feel a bit more alert.   
Now, I didn’t inject anything. Just pills. And drinking. But that’s enough for me.   
Stop shaking your head at me. It’s the disappointment that hurts more than anything else. To see how I have fallen in your eyes. Those looks killed me. Every time.  
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.  
Yours~  
John

 

December 25, 2011  
Merry Christmas.

 

January 1, 2012  
Three minutes after midnight. Happy New Year. Sitting here with a brandy in my hand. Thinking of you. I can see you sitting in your chair, you are wearing the dark grey suit, the one I love. It’s the best on you. And the blue button up. The one that’s the color of sea glass. It makes your eyes look bluer and it’s intoxicating. Your eyes. The way they change in the light and with what you are wearing. It’s beautiful.   
You know how handsome you are, right? I think you do. But I also think that you use it as a weapon. You disarm people with it. Certainly worked on Molly. She was so nervous around you. All you had to do was throw her a small compliment and smolder at her She would have killed for you. And to be honest, it was quite intimidating.  
I think I hold my own in looks. I’ve seen worse. I’ve also lost girls to worse. But I’ve lost girls to better too. And they way you seemed so nonchalant about your looks added an air of mystery. All eyes were on you for your looks and on me in pity or awe. How did someone that looks like me, pull someone that looks like you? And then you opened your mouth and the spell was broken.  
And In Dartmoor I was right. The cheek bones and the collar. It’s all so much. But I also think that you wear it all like a suit of armor. It was better when it was just the two of us. And while we are on the subject, let’s talk about the hair, eh? I have seen how much product you use. If I use your theory about hair product and sexual orientation, well…  
Humpf. I think I’m done in for the night. I’m tired.  
Happy New Year, Sherlock.  
I miss you, my friend.  
Yours~   
John

 

January 11, 2012  
Happy Birthday.  
I miss you.

 

January 15, 2012  
I’ve been thinking about what we would have done for your birthday. I know you don’t really believe that celebrating the day you were born was something special, but after having watched a lot of death and a lot of births, I wish you would reconsider. Think of it this way. You are really celebrating two things. Living out another year and in our line of work that in itself is a miracle. And secondly your birthday is a celebration of the love your parents shared to create you.   
And in that love and creation was born the world’s only consulting detective. Quite a feat naturally. But I think we would have at least gone out for dinner. Especially if there wasn’t a case on. Angelo’s naturally. We would have shared a nice bottle of wine and talked for hours.  
Our conversations were nice, when we talked. Just talked. Not you trying to deduce anything or explain all the things I am missing. Just conversation. Those times we just talked were some of my favorites. I think we would have come home and maybe put in a movie or something. Or talked more. Maybe you would have play the violin some. I miss thatyou playing the violin.  
I miss hearing it at night. Especially when you knew I was having a nightmare. It was grounding and beautiful. I know that you heard my yelling and you would play to wake me up gently. No violin music in a war. Otherwise it would have been an Oliver Stone movie.  
Damn it. I need to go. Harry’s on the phone. I’ll write again soon.  
Maybe I’ll put on some music. I still have the playlist on my phone that you put there. My musical education as you put it. That should help calm me down after listening to my sister’s newest rant.  
Miss you~  
John

 

January 27, 2012  
Horrible day at work. If I see one more snotty nosed kid, I might just lose it. Things just suck. And now my throat hurts too. Fucking buggery fuck.

 

January 30, 2012  
I’m sick. I’m a bloody doctor and I’m sick. Little fucking wanker kids got me sick. Sneezing and dribbling and germy. The lot of them. It’s times like this that I remember why I’m not married and have a family. I don’t mind children generally. They can be fun. But then I think about endless parent teacher meetings. Family nights at school. Sick kids. Play dates. Dance recitals. And I praise the heavens that I am not a father.  
I wonder what you would have been like as a father. Put aside the idea that you have to have sex for children. Ora partner. But I wonder what you have been like. A baby strapped to your chest as you deduced a crime scene. Pushing a pram as you chase down a client. I know, it’s laughable. But I also think about the times away from the world. I think about you sitting with a baby on your lap. Pulling faces at each other. Humming lightly as you hug and rock your child to sleep. Wiping away a tear as they win a prize in a science contest. Watching them walk down the aisle at their wedding.  
There is a side to you that I got to see. I think that Mycroft knows this side too. I know that you are perfectly happy with snapping and snarking at each other. This is the way you show affection. This is the way you care. It was the times that you were civil to each other which you agreed and acted like ordinary people that I got worried. Those were the times that scared the ever living crap out of me. But you had a side that I got to know. Not everyone saw it. You could be really funny. Not in that morbid way that made us both giggle at crime scenes. Really funny. And I got to see that. I think you even had a special smile, one that only I got to see.  
Listen to me. Prattling on like an arse. Blame it on the cold medication. And lack of oxygen. But I miss my sweet Sherlock. The one only I was privileged enough to see.  
Going to soak my head in a mountain of steam.  
Laters~  
John

 

February 14, 2012  
Happy Valentine’s Day. Shall I tell you about my date? Yes, I know. Cliché. A date on Valentine’s day.   
A nurse at the surgery asked me if I had plans about a week ago. I told her I did not and it became the task du jour to find me a date for Valentine’s Day. All the girls must have felt sorry for me or something. I think they realized that I was grieving and if I had something in my life to focus on, that things would get better. Even Ella thought that it was a good idea. So, in the end they found me a poor country cousin or something. Her name is Tara. Perfectly nice woman. But things got off to a bad start. The restaurant that I had made a reservation at gave away our table. In the end we went to a pub and ate. She got drunk, tried to make moves on me. Of a sexual nature. It wasn’t something I was interested in. Then she knocked over her glass of red wine. My trousers are stained beyond repair. I walked her to a cab, and sent her home. I got a text a bit ago that she was home, safely and she wanted to see me again.  
But truth be told, it wouldn’t have mattered if she was the best looking woman in the world. Or if she was the last woman in the world. I’m rubbish at dating. Always have been. I put other things before my dates. And girlfriends. I always answered your texts. I always came when you called. I put you before everything.  
Why did I do that? Why do I still want to do that?  
I don’t know. It’s sad and scary at the same time.  
I see now why people always thought we were a couple. We lived together. We got on. And we spent most of our time with each other.   
I was thinking about my parents the other day. When things between them were good,they weren’t always that way. But when they were it was bliss. I was thinking about the way my mother handled my father. Coxing him into doing something that he didn’t want him to do. Shutting him down with a look. And I realized that I was doing that to you. I was handling you. And for the most part I think I was rather good at it. And the majority of the time, more effective than Mycroft could ever be.  
So, I think I shall leave off for now. Good night, my dear friend.  
Yours~  
John

 

March 2, 2012  
I was thinking about the fact that I have been writing these emails for a while now and where as I am not writing every day, I am still writing. And it was an email in my account that made me think of something. Usually I got an email when either your in box got too full or when you hadn’t looked at your email in a while. And if I’ve been writing, who is reading them? Mycroft? Well, I did rather prove that he was. But I don’t think or I at least hope that he’s not reading each one in turn. Maybe one of his minions. That should give them something to complain about at their next salary review.  
And by the way, what exactly does Mycroft do? I get the whole minor position in the government cover story. But honestly. Neither you nor Mycroft have ever done anything minor in your lives. So, I wonder. Is he Q? M instead?   
Okay, okay, so I went to a James Bond Retrospective with Lestrade last week and now I have Bond on the brain. And it doesn’t really matter what Mycroft does. It’s just a bit scary from time to time to know what he has done to each of us and what he has done to people or cases we have been involved in. And could he be doing this to everyone? 1984 anyone?  
Enough ranting. Just trying to shut out the noise in my head. The neighbors upstairs are newlywed and shagging like rabbits. It was better when it was just me.  
Night.  
~ John

 

March 15, 2012  
I got a letter today. I won’t bore you with the details, but it’s made me very happy. And now very sad. Because the one person I wanted to share my happiness with isn’t here to do so.  
And if all goes according to plans I had put into work long before you died, I would have been able to give up most of the locum work and spend more time with you.  
Bastard.  
I miss you.  
John

 

April 1, 2012  
I’ve been away. I needed to get away. So I took a trip. It’s been two years since the whole business with Moriarty and the pool. I knew it was coming up and I needed to get out of town. So, I had a little money put aside and I had some things to keep myself occupied. So, I left. I spent a wonderfully relaxing week on a beach in the south of France. My French is terrible at best as you know. But I sat in the sun and relaxed. It was nice. I took my laptop, but had no wifi. It was fine. But I couldn’t write to you.  
But I came back today. I couldn’t stay away again today. Two fucking years since the day that I realized… never mind. I still can’t swim in a pool. The hotel I was staying at had a pool. It was the smell of the chemicals that did it to me. I hate it. But I sat in the sun and I became deep brown. I’m lucky I tan. You most likely burn like a Christmas Yule Log.   
I’ve been dreaming of the pool again. I hate the sight of you with a gun in your hand. I went through three tours in Afghanistan and never once did I get taken captive. But, a short period of time with you and I do. And to be honest the kidnapping from your wonderful brother was a bit more embarrassing than scary. But Moriarty? That was downright terrifying.  
And I would be truly remiss if I didn’t mention how much I missed it all. Going for a pint with Greg now. I’ve told him the entire story of the pool. He understands. At least there is one person I could share it with, even if it’s our anniversary and you aren’t here to be part of it with me.  
I miss you terribly. More and more each day.   
Wishing you were here~   
John

 

April 2, 2012  
Shhh. Someone set a bomb off in my head. Even typing is too loud. At least we didn’t end up in the drunk tank. Can’t think. Need sleep.

 

May 9, 2012  
I know I have been remiss in telling you what has been going on with me, but to be honest I don’t know if I can put it all into words. I met someone and we hit it off. We have seen a bit of each other and well, things were good for a while. But it’s over now.  
Why? Well certainly not for you being a wanker and texting or calling me every minute of the time we were out on a date. But it started… well, if I tell you something, you have to swear that it stays between us. No deductions. Just me telling my best friend something. I could really use my best friend right now.  
So, Mary, that’s her name by the way, and I had been out to dinner and the cinema a few times. It was nice. I really fancied her. She is pretty and very sweet. She invited me over to hers to make me dinner. It’s been a long time for a home cooked dinner and I decided it sounded nice. So, I went. And the first half of the evening was lovely.  
The second half was a disaster. Of epic scale.  
So, we were cuddling on the sofa, a fair amount of wine shared between us. Things got more amorous. We were moving into her bedroom and I was chuffed. It’s been a while and well, I was a bit nervous too. But that’s when it hit me. As much as my libido wanted this perfectly willing and desirable woman, my mind said no. My brain, decided at that moment to shut everything down. Everything. And after a bit of fumbling and a large apology, I decided to walk home. To figure out what had happened. And in the end, as I was rounding a corner, I found myself exactly where I was just under a year ago. Standing, looking up at the roof at Bart’s.   
I didn’t plan on going there. My feet carried me there. It was incredible. I was there. And as I realized where I was, my thoughts came around to one conclusion. I was in love. I have been for some time. And it’s too late. The love of my life is no longer in it.  
I ended up walking into Bart’s. Tracing old familiar paths. Places we have walked a thousand times. I found Molly working late and I took her out for a pint. It was a bit awkward at first. But then, I guess either through some misplaced emotion or enough dutch courage, she told me something.  
She told me a secret. Can you guess what it is? I can see you smirking from here. And I should be angry. I should be spitting nails. But this was a week ago. And I have been thinking on it for some time. I know you think my mind is tiny sometimes, but to be honest, it’s not as tiny as you think. I see more than you realize. I just need time to process all the moving parts. I need to explore it all and see it from every angle. That’s something that you rarely let me do in my time.  
So, here I am. With a new secret. Figured out I am in love. And not being able to do a damn thing about it. So, a rock and a hard place.  
What shall I do next?  
~ John

 

John closed the laptop after sending the last email and closed his eyes. That should be good enough for now. He looked at his watch and decided to put the kettle on. He figured he would have company within twenty minutes. He rummaged in the cupboards for a few biscuits and realized he didn’t care about social niceties. He set the pot of tea to steep and pulled out his tea service. The knock on his door came at eighteen minutes. John smiled to himself and opened the door.  
“Mycroft. Kettle’s just boiled.” He said as he left the door open for Mycroft to let himself in. Mycroft sat on the sofa and watched John as he brought in the tea. He poured them each a cup and sat back to enjoy his. Mycroft not only looked uncomfortable, but nervous. He was picking at invisible lint on his trousers. John drank his tea and said nothing. He could out wait a Holmes if he needed to.

“Ms. Hooper, what exactly did she tell you?” Mycroft asked. John smiled and gave a single chuckle.

“Everything.” John answered. Mycroft’s eyes shifted for a moment and he looked worried before replacing his mask of indifference.

“You have questions, naturally.” Mycroft stated. 

John began with a smile. His dangerous smile. The one that often scared Sherlock. But after a moment, he began laughing to himself.

“I do. But not for you.” John said. “Molly explained, everything. But, there are three things that I, well... want. One, how long until you are going to allow us direct contact; two, where is he and three, once you have given me the answers that I need, please show yourself out and do not darken my door again, at least for some time. I do find you useful from time to time.” Mycroft let his mask drop at once and regarded John with utter astonishment. John had never spoken to Mycroft like this and Mycroft found it to be a bit overwhelming. He underestimated John, once again.

Mycroft reached into his inside jacket pocket and extracted a small slim silver mobile phone. He handed it to John, but did not let it go immediately.

“I will not allow him to tell you where he is at the moment. Soon, he will be in a safer location. Do not call him. He will contact you soon enough. This is encrypted so do not try to trace it. I will know. I will not listen to your conversations, however, do not be fooled into thinking that someone won’t be listening.” John listened to the warning that Mycroft gave him. He noted that Mycroft was neither stern nor intimidating. It was a first for their relationship. He decided that Mycroft was resigned. If Sherlock had been in contact with him, he could only imagine how much he was harassing his older brother.

“Thank you. I understand.” John said. He took the phone and placed it in his pocket. It felt heavy and centering all at once. Similar to when he put his Browning in the waistband of his pants. Mycroft stood and turned to leave. He stopped at the door his back to John.

“Understand John, that Sherlock hadn’t realized the trauma he caused here at home. And whereas I do not agree that you should be part of this, I do believe that he is being more careful since hearing from you. And I do consider it for the best. Take care with him. He is my only living brother and I do care for him deeply, despite what you think.” Mycroft strode out of the flat before John could say anything more and shut the door behind him.

 

It had been three days since Mycroft had visited him. John felt better for the knowledge that he had a direct line to the person he most wanted to talk to and for as many times as he wanted to dial the only number in the contacts list, he knew that it wasn’t wise. Sherlock would contact him when he could. When he wasn’t in danger of some kind.

John had the mobile in his pocket at all times. He felt it’s weight and heat in his pocket, a constant reminder of a life before. But he could ignore it readily when he was seeing patients. That was until it started ringing and beeping in the middle of an exam. He reached his hand into the pocket of his pants, excusing himself from the middle aged woman with a nasty head cold in order to answer it and silence the noise. He had forgotten which of the two mobiles in his pocket it was. He heart leapt and his hand shook when he realized which phone it was.

“Dr. Watson.” John answered, trying to get the message across that he was at work.

“Dr. Watson, this is Anthea. We will be there to get you in five minutes. Please be out front ready to go.”

“I can’t. I’m with a patient.” He said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger of his free hand.

“This isn’t a request. We will explain in the car. It is urgent.” Anthea stated. John noticed for the first time there was more than the usual professional calm in her voice. She sounded rattled. Something was wrong.

“Yes. Okay, fine. Ill be there.” John rang off and excused himself from his patient. He went to find Sarah.

“Sarah, I’m sorry. There’s been a family emergency. I need to go.” John rattled after finding her in her office at her desk. Sarah nodded up from her paperwork. “Can you finish with Mrs. Hollins? I will call when I can.”

“Harry?” Sarah asked a tint of concern in her voice. If nothing else, their failure at romance opened the door for a good friendship. Sarah rose from her desk and walked to the doorway where John was standing, the mobile still clutched in his hand.

“No. I… I’ve been seeing someone.” He stuttered. “I don’t know much. I think there was an accident. Our mutual friend just called. She was frantic and I couldn’t get a lot of details.” John had the bitter taste of panic in his mouth.

“Call me.” She said. She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a quick hug before hurrying to finish with Mrs. Hollins. John strode out of the surgery and the car was waiting at the kerb. When he climbed in, John saw Anthea, her fingers flying across her phone as per usual.

“What happened?” John asked.

“I don’t know.” Anthea breathed. She sounded lost. It wasn’t usual for her in John’s experience. “Mycroft is en route to him now. I am to take you to collect a bag. Pack for a week and grab your passport.”

“What kind of clothes?” John asked. He didn’t know if was going to be cold or hot.

“Everyday. Germany isn’t that different than England.” John nodded. He was in Germany. “He was airlifted to a private hospital outside of Munich a bit over three hours ago. I’m emailing the medical papers to you now.” Anthea leaned over and handed John a new tablet computer. “Mycroft’s orders. This is yours. It’s all loaded with your email and other things for you.”

John nodded his thanks and placed the tablet on the seat between them. If he started to read through the details now, the bubbling panic that was just under the surface would hit him with full force and he would not be able to function at all. There was plenty of time to familiarize himself with the details while on the plane.  
“Is he going to be alright?” John asked quietly. He shocked himself at the amount of emotion in his voice.

“I don’t know.” Anthea admitted helplessly.

John jumped out of the car when it arrived at his flat and within thirty minutes of when he had been picked up at work, he was on a plane, readying for take off.  
John climbed off of the plane after a smooth flight to Germany. He had read through the medical reports twice on the plane and none of it was good. He was worried. But it was the second email that bothered him more. Mycroft had sent him a few updates once he had been on the ground and a few files from his office. A marriage certificate, naming John Sherlock’s husband and medical guardian. It must have been bad if Mycroft was naming John his next of kin. Even if it was fake.  
John was met at the front of the hospital by a German version of Anthea and with a quick exchange, John was brought to the third floor. Mycroft was sitting in a plastic chair in the hall, his suit rumpled and his head in his hands. John dropped his bag and went to his side. He looked at the man in the chair and didn’t recognize Mycroft there at all. He bent down and looked at Mycroft’s face and placed his hand on Mycroft’s arm.

“Mycroft?” he asked.

“He’s alive.”

“How bad?”

“Bad.” Mycroft said. John nodded and stood up straight. 

“I need… I…” Mycroft nodded, pulled his mask back into place and stood up, smoothing the wrinkles out of his suit. He led John to a numberless room and opened the door. John was stunned by what he saw.

Sherlock had lost weight. A fair amount, close to a stone and a half. Even half a stone was too much for him. He was hooked up to heart monitors, IV’s and other medical equipment. But he was breathing on his own and John took that as a good sign.

“He was working in Belarus and I don’t know all the details. He had a cell phone that we used to keep in some contact and he activated the emergency beacon. He needed to be extracted. It sent out a code that we had set up for only the direst of emergencies. I do not know what happened. Only he does at this moment. But he was shot no less than three times and beaten nearly to death. The bullets hit nothing major fortunately, but he is severely dehydrated and his lung was punctured by a broken rib.” John nodded as Mycroft listed out Sherlock’s injuries. John knew all of this from reading the reports.

Sherlock had undergone surgery to extract the shrapnel from his right thigh, his right shoulder and upper arm. His lung on the left was doing better after a chest tube had been inserted. His face was a swollen mass of bruises and his left eye was swollen shut. His hair was knotted and longer than John had ever seen it. It was matted with blood and his lower lip was held together with a few stitches. 

“Has he been awake at all?” John asked. Mycroft shook his head.

“No. My team found him unconscious in an alley. They had him brought to the local hospital to be stabilized and transferred here right away.”

“Is he sedated?”

“I don’t know.” Mycroft answered. He was so upset at the sight of his little brother broken, he hadn’t been asking the right questions. John nodded curtly and went to find a nurse or the doctor on Sherlock’s case. He marched up to the nursing desk and with his best Captain Watson voice, asked for the information on Sherlock.  
“I’m sorry. We cannot give out the information you are requesting.” the small nurse answered.

“I am not only a doctor, but his husband. Now, either kindly give me the information I am requesting or I will get his brother.” The use of Mycroft’s name and the realization of relationship was enough to bring the head nurse over.

“I will page Dr. Tennant.” She said. John nodded and crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for the doctor to arrive, standing at parade rest. The taller lean man came around the corner a few moments later. He offered his hand to John and John shook it once, never lessening his military bred pose.

“Mr. Holmes.” The doctor greeted him.

“Dr. Watson, actually.”

“Doctor?” the man in charge of Sherlock’s care questioned. “What’s your specialty?”

“Army surgeon.” John stated. It wasn’t a lie. It was his specialty. He just wasn’t working as one currently.

“Oh.” John saw a change come over the man. He seemed to be used to dealing with people who did not understand the basics of medical care and the faint hum of the military charged throughout the hospital. John was sure he was on a base of some sort.

“Can you please tell me what is the status of my husband?” John asked, trying to sound confident and cringing innerly that he was failing.

“Well, he is breathing on his own. The bullets were easy to remove, as they didn’t harm much. But he had a pretty volatile cocktail of medications in his system. He has not regained consciousness.” Dr Tennant rattled off the facts that John was already aware of.

“So, you are not sedating him?” John questioned. He chewed his lip, wondering if Sherlock had been self medicating. “Can you tell how the drugs entered his system?”  
“We are only giving him a bit of medication for the pain. There was a small puncture wound at the base of his neck. But it’s the last brain scan that has us the most concerned.” Dr. Tennant stated.

“What of it?” John asked, testily. There was nothing in the charts he had read about it.

Dr. Tennant motioned for John to follow him and after a moment, they stood in front of a computer monitor. Dr. Tennant pushed a few keys and brought up an image. John studied it for a moment and closed his eyes. It was no wonder that Mycroft was distraught as he was when John first arrived. The brilliant brain of Sherlock Holmes was swollen and pressing on his thick skull. 

“If the swelling doesn’t reduce soon, we were considering a few burr holes.” Dr. Tennant stated. John swallowed and nodded. “We are medicating him for the pressure, but until we are sure that the dose of whatever he had in captivity is out of his system, we are being very cautious.”

“Understandable.” John said.

John thanked Dr. Tennant for his time and asked if he could talk to Mycroft before making any further decisions. Dr. Tennant nodded and stated he would come to look in on Sherlock in an hour. They had sixty minutes to talk. John walked down the hall to find Mycroft standing at his brother’s bedside, looking lost.  
“Mycroft.” John said as he approached the bed. Mycroft’s eyes left his brother’s face and looked at John. John pulled up a chair and pushed Mycroft into it. He settled himself into a chair on the other side of the bed. Sherlock was breathing calmly between them.

“You spoke to the doctor?” Mycroft whispered.

“I did. You understand the concerns?” John answered as he watched Sherlock’s chest rise and fall.

“I do. But you are his partner. I can’t… I’m too…” Mycroft looked at John once again. He was crying. John felt as if he had been slapped. This was not the way he was used to seeing the most powerful man in England.

“Mycroft.” He said softly. “May I ask you something?” Mycroft nodded. “Why did you make me his husband?”

“I can’t make the decisions. I can’t be expected to be rational when it comes to my brother.”

“So, I became his husband.” John said. Mycroft gave him a small nod. “We are going to have a conversation, soon, brother in law, where we discuss our relationship.” John gave Mycroft his sinister smile and Mycroft gave him a curt nod.

“So, John. What do we do?” John worried his lips for a moment. 

“I think we let them see what his pressure in his head is when they come back. If it’s even the slightest bit down, we wait. Otherwise, we drill holes in his brilliant head. Although, I think we should consider it our last option.” Mycroft nodded in agreement. “Go on. Get some sleep. Get something to eat. I’ll stay with him for a while.”  
“If you want a few minutes alone with my brother, just say so.” Mycroft mused, his perfect mask of indifference falling back into place for the first time since John reentered the room. John smirked.

“Thirty minutes.” John said. Mycroft rose and left the room, his shoes quiet on the tiled floor. John sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. He picked up Sherlock’s hand that was closest to him in his own hands and felt the warmth that should have been cold by looking at it.

“Fuck.” John said. “A year you have been gone. And suddenly you are back in my life. And I still can’t talk to you. Or, I can talk, but you can’t talk back.” John sat there holding Sherlock’s hand and watching the calm rise and fall of his chest. “I wanted to wait until we could talk properly, but fuck, Sherlock, I need to say it out loud. For the first time. To you. I love you. I have fallen deeply, overwhelmingly in love with you. I can’t imagine my life without you. If you leave me again, after I just got you back, I will never forgive you.” John felt the first tear streak down his face and he smiled a nervous smile. “Don’t you dare leave me again.” John let the hot tears fall down his face and when he heard the knock on the door, he used the back of his free hand wipe them away. Dr. Tennant came into the room, followed by Mycroft. John didn’t let go of his hand.

“We need to take him for testing.” Dr. Tennant stated. John nodded and let go of his hand. “We will have you paged when we return. Why don’t you both get a cup of tea?” The orderly came in and moved the monitors and unlocked the wheels on the bed. John and Mycroft pressed themselves against the wall and watched Sherlock be processed out of the room. Mycroft sagged a bit after the door shut.

“Do you have a cigarette?” John asked. Mycroft’s head spun to John’s face so fast his neck hurt. John shrugged at the question on Mycroft’s face. “What? I used to smoke. There wasn’t much to do otherwise in the Army between firefights. I just really want one right now.” Mycroft nodded and led the way out of the door and down to the street level where he produced a pack of low tar cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket. He and John each lit one and took a long drag. They stood and smoked in the early night for a few moments.

“You’re worried.” John said. It wasn’t a question or an accusation. Just a statement of fact.

“I am. He’s my only living brother.” Mycroft said. “It would kill me if something happened to him.”

“I’m going to file away the only living part.” John said. “But I understand the rest. I just got him back and he might be gone again.” Mycroft took a drag off of his cigarette and stared at the ground.

“I’m glad you are here with him.” He said. 

“I am too.” John said. He stubbed out his cigarette. “Where are you staying?”

“I have a bunk on the base.” Mycroft said, motioning with his chin towards the lights that were glowing in the distance.

“I thought we were near some military installment.” John said.

“You aren’t going to leave him, are you?”

“Not a chance. I just got him back. I am never leaving his side again.” John chuckled a bit. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He extracted it and looked at the message from Sarah.

“All right?” he opened the message to write a reply. He stopped for a moment, unsure what to write next.

“I’m out of the country. I don’t know how long. There was an accident and my friend is in bad shape. I’m sorry I had to run out.” John hit send and pocketed his phone. He knew that Sarah would send another text or two of various platitudes but he wasn’t interested in reading them. Mycroft followed John back into the hospital and they went to find something to pretend to eat while they were waiting. They grabbed some tea and a sandwich and made their way back to the room to wait for Sherlock’s return.

Sherlock was rolled back into the room twenty minutes later and John resumed holding his hand as soon as he could. Dr. Tennant came in ten minutes later.

“Tell me you have some good news.” John said, his eyes searching for anything to latch onto.

“Well, there is good and bad. We have seen that the blood is clean now. There are no other drugs in his system other than what we are putting there. However, the pressure hasn’t changed. But it also hasn’t increased.” 

“That’s good.” John said tentatively. His eyes flicked to Sherlock’s face. It was placid and calm. “So, we wait.”

“I think so. We will check again in two hours.” Dr. Tennant stated. “We can increase the medication now that we know whatever he had in his system is gone.” John nodded in agreement and watched as Dr. Tennant increased the flow of the medication. He left the room after watching the monitors for a moment. John rested his chin on the bed next to where he was holding Sherlock’s hand.

“You should go get some sleep.” John said after a while to Mycroft. He was sitting so that he could take in Sherlock’s rise and fall in his chest as well as watch the monitors.

“I should.” Mycroft said however he made no movement to move. They sat in silence, the gentle rhythm of the monitors in the background. “Sherlock and I had a brother.” Mycroft said quietly after a while. “Sherrinford. He was three years younger than I. When he was a teenager and away at school with us, he spiraled down into a drug fueled depression. He over dosed himself after a while. I was the one who found him in his room at school. It was the hardest thing I had to face at the time. Then when Sherlock started to repeat the same behaviors, I was worried. I watched him like a hawk, facing and fixing each of his problems. I didn’t want to lose another brother. That was until the day you walked into his life.”

“And what did you see in me that you thought I could be good for him?” John asked. It was a question that had been in the back of his mind for a while especially after talking to Lestrade and understanding how involved Mycroft had been in the beginning of Sherlock’s career.

“I saw a good upstanding man. A man who was willing to put up with the whims of the genius that is my brother, but also was willing and understand to give him limits. You know, that while you were together, that was the heaviest Sherlock ever has been?” John’s eyes traced over the rail thin body lying on the bed in front of him.

“I didn’t know that. I guessed, however. He’s too thin now.” John said. He found his fingers tracing small circles on the back of Sherlock’s hand. “Thank you for bringing me to him.” 

“I wanted him to bring you with him.” Mycroft admitted. “But he was sure that it was a bad idea. He didn’t want to put you in any danger.”

“Danger.” John chuckled. “I have a long history with danger. It must have been something more.”

“He loves you.” Mycroft said. “He told me that he didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Loves me.” It was a whisper. There was an edge of humor in his voice. “I find that very hard to believe, Mycroft.”

“Trust me. I know my brother. I have never seen him like this. He’s in love with you. Well, as in love with anyone that Sherlock can be.”

“Mycroft.” John said quietly.

“I’m going to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same.” Mycroft said as he stood and went to the door. He paused for a moment with his hand on the door handle, as if he was going to speak again, but he left without another word.

“In love with me.” John mused as he sat back in his chair. He closed his eyes, his hand never drifting from its hold on Sherlock’s and thought about what Mycroft had said and what he had said to Sherlock in email. He must have drifted off to sleep, as a nurse gently woke him with a shake so they could take Sherlock for another round of testing. 

John found himself wandering down the hall and outside. A breath of air was something he yearned for and it woke him up a bit. He walked around for a while and looked at his watch. He decided it was time to get back to the chair he was occupying and hopefully there would be some better news coming his way.

Dr. Tennant came into the room and woke John from the restless slumber he had fallen into. “Dr. Watson.” He said quietly. John looked over at Sherlock a small look of surprise on his face. He had never even heard them bring him back. He was more tired than he realized. “The scans are good. The pressure has dropped more than I expected it too. At this rate, he might be awake in the morning.” John smiled at the doctor and resumed his position at the bedside holding Sherlock’s hand.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that.” John said with a smile. “Please have someone call his brother and let him know as well.” Dr. Tennant nodded and left the room without another word.

John smiled as he watched Sherlock sleeping in the big bed. He thought to himself for a few moments and then decided that he needed to talk aloud. He wanted to fill the silence and to have a moment to tell Sherlock a few things without him knowing it. To get some things out in the open.

“Sherlock, I don’t know if you can hear me and I don’t really care. But I have to tell you a few things. Before you are awake and demanding that everyone is an idiot or sleeping with each other.” John let out a breath before he continued. “I had drinks with Molly about two weeks ago. I emailed you about that. She told me that she helped you fake your death. I was angry at first, but after that moment passed, I was thrilled. I hoped that I would get the chance to be by your side again. I missed you. More than you can imagine. And in my despair, I came to realize that after the pool there was a shift in our relationship. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it was shortly after that day that I had really fallen in love with you. And you dying just about killed me. But don’t think for a moment that you are forgiven. That trust… “ John’s voice hitched. He took a second and cleared his throat. “You know I have trust issues. And you are my best friend and I care for you. But you died. In front of me. And it’s going to take a lot for me to trust you again. Hopefully when you wake up and explain a bit to me, that we will begin to walk down the road that will allow me to trust you again. Because if you think for one moment that I am going to be anywhere that you aren’t for any time, you are madder than I already think you are.”

John rested back against the chair again after his little speech and watched the monitors until his eyes grew heavy and he fell into a fitful sleep. He awoke to the smell of coffee in the air and the feeling of eyes upon his skin. He opened his eyes slowly and looked at Sherlock first and then around the room. Sherlock was lying in the bed wide awake and there was a paper cup of hot coffee on the table next to John.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock said. John nodded and held up his hand for a moment. He went to the restroom and relieved himself. After splashing a bit of cold water on his face he came back into the room. He picked up the paper cup and drained a fair amount in one go. Sherlock watched him from the bed, his eyes never leaving John.

“Mycroft left, then yeah?” John asked, feeling normal. It was surreal to him. It was as if there had been no time at all. That nothing of the last year had happened. Sherlock smiled a bit.

“Yes. He went to work or terrorize someone. I forget.” Sherlock answered with a shrug. John nearly closed his eyes at the sound of the voice that he’d missed hearing every day.

“All right then?” John asked. He sat back in his chair to drink his coffee. “How are you feeling?”

“Fuzzy. I think it’s the morphine. But better than I last remember.” Sherlock answered pensively. There was a moment of quiet and Sherlock looked down at his hands that were in his lap. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Me either.” John admitted with a tilt of his head. “But where else would I be but at your side?”

“You shouldn’t be here. But I am glad you are.” Sherlock admitted. His face twitched a bit and a small smiled filled it. John put down his coffee and reached out for Sherlock’s hand.

“What is the last thing you do remember?” John asked. Sherlock put his hand in John’s and kept his eyes on his lap. John watched his face for any signs of pain or worry.

“Calling Mycroft. Then nothing. Until I dreamt your voice. Calling me mad and telling me that you were still upset with me.” His voice was small and lacking in its usual confidence.

“I am upset with you. And you are mad.” John said. He chuckled a bit. “But Mycroft is the one who brought me here.”

“I know. He told me. He sent me a message to let me know that he had given you the mobile and when I could, I should call you. But here you are.”

“You read the emails then?” John asked, a lump suddenly forming in his throat.

“Yes.” Sherlock said plainly. He turned his face towards John. “I want to talk to you, but I’m so tired.”

“You have been through a lot. Tired seems to be an understatement.” Sherlock nodded. “We will talk. We have plenty of time to talk. But before you go to sleep, I’m sure that Dr. Tennant wants to see you.” Sherlock sighed in a dramatic fashion.

John got up from the chair, pushed back Sherlock’s fringe, kissed him on the forehead and left the room. He waved to the nurse at the desk and mouthed for her to call the doctor. He returned to the bedside and saw that Sherlock’s eyes were still wide open and his face was a mask of shock.

“What?” John asked as he sat down in the chair again and picked up his coffee.

“You… kissed me.” Sherlock stuttered out.

“Yeah. Felt right. Problem?”

“No. I… No.” Sherlock was able to spit out.

“Alright then.” John said. His face lit up in a smile and he lean forward to grab Sherlock’s hand. “Oh, and by the way, Mycroft married us.”

“I thought he might.” Sherlock said trying to sound more like himself. He turned his hand so that John could lace his fingers through his and his face relaxed a bit. “John, I really… there is so much to…” John squeezed his hand.

“Sherlock there will be plenty of time to talk. Right now I’m happy you are awake. I want the doctor to take a look at you and see how you are doing. Then you will kip in that bed while I read for a while. Later, we have some alone time, we will talk. But right now, just relax.” Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but John shut him down with a look as the doctor walked into the room.

Doctor Tennant did an exam, making humming noises as he was going along. John waited for him to finish, keeping a calm and cool exterior. Sherlock, however became increasingly more agitated as time went on.

“Well, the swelling is down. You seem to have recovered somewhat. I am pleased. Hopefully this afternoon we can take the chest tube out. But you need to be here for a while. I need to continue to assess the damage of both the drugs and the violence you suffered.” Dr. Tennant stated. Sherlock pulled his lips into a tight line. John grabbed his hand and squeezed. 

“He will comply.” John said warningly. Sherlock looked at John out of the corner of his eye, but the morphine was beginning to pull him under again and his glare faltered. Dr. Tennant left the room after a moment and John stood at Sherlock’s bedside, still holding his hand.

“Tired.” Sherlock said in a small voice.

“I know. I know.” John said running his hand across Sherlock’s hair and Sherlock leaned into the touch some. His breathing hitched and his face grimaced in pain. “You need to be careful. You are still a wreck. They had to dig the bullets out of you. Your lung was punctured and you have a concussion.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock drawled, his voice slurred and almost drunk sounding.

“Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.” John said leaning down and planting his lips on the top of Sherlock’s head. Sherlock closed his eyes and smiled a bit as he let the drugs take him under.

An hour after Sherlock fell asleep, Mycroft slid back into the room quietly.. John put down the tablet and looked at Mycroft. He looked better than he had the night before and he was carrying a paper sack.

“Breakfast.” Mycroft said. “Of a sort. I can’t speak to this hospital, but I know the food in them is usually suspect at best.” John nodded his head and gratefully took the bag. He pulled out two small sandwiches and handed one to Mycroft.

“He fell back to sleep an hour or so ago.” John said as he bit into the warmish egg and cheese sandwich that Mycroft had brought him. It wasn’t great but far better than the hospital fare.

“Then he was awake for about three hours.” Mycroft said.

John hummed a bit as he finished his breakfast, watching Sherlock and Mycroft from the corners of his eyes. He decided that he needed to take a shower, shave and clean his teeth. Those simple tasks would go a long way to making him feel better, more human. He also owed Sarah a call to let her know that he was still abroad and would be for some time. She would need to find someone else to cover the clinic for the foreseeable future and it was only fair to the patients. He sighed and carded a hand through his hair.

“I have spoken to the clinic and you are on leave until you desire to return.” Mycroft started, startling John with his almost mind reading skills. “The bath has fresh towels for you. I will sit with Sherlock until you return.” Mycroft offered. John shook his head with a smile that he was so transparent to the Holmes brothers at times.. John stood up from his chair and stretched out his sore body. He leaned over Sherlock, planting a loving kiss on his forehead and brushing back his fringe a bit. He whispered that he would be back shortly, grabbed his bag and headed for a shower.

Hospital showers were not known for their comfort. They were all designed for utilitarian purposes. But at that moment John didn’t care if he was washing with a garden hose or a helmet full of water. He had done that enough in his army days. He let the hot water sluice over his skin and it felt delicious. He smiled his way through his washing, feeling happier than he had in months, lighter in a way. He was only feet away from the man who was both the best thing and the worst thing in his life. And he felt wonderful.

He heard his mobile chirp while he was shaving and he glanced over the sink to where he had it resting on the countertop. It was a text from Lestrade. John blew out a breath and wondered what he was going to say to him. What would happen when they both went home to Baker Street? Where things going to just pick up where they left off before Sherlock’s death, the only difference was that John and he would be sharing a bed? Fulfilling all the gossip that was already circulating about them?   
And was it safe for them to go back to England in the first place? Was what ever Sherlock had been doing over with? Was John going to need to fake his death now? John sighed as the anxiety started to ratchet up and he decided to ignore the text to finish shaving. He and Sherlock would work it out. Mycroft would figure out some of it for them. John took a deep breath as he packed his kit up again and opened the door to the room.

John watched the scene unfold before him as he entered the room. Sherlock was awake and he was staring at his brother with his usual animosity. Mycroft was staring back but the tension between them was thick.

“All right then?” John asked as he put his bag down and kissed the top of Sherlock’s head again. Sherlock seemed to turn to jelly with John’s touch and relaxed into the bed.

“Mycroft won’t ask the doctor to release me to you and home to Baker Street.” Sherlock mewed.

“Good thing too.” John said. “You are in no condition to go home right now.” Mycroft gave John a small grateful smile. “And besides, is it safe to go back there? Are you finished with your… whatever?” John asked, waving his hand at the window.

“It’s as safe as it can be.” Sherlock stated. “Mycroft, go away.” he grumbled.

“Sherlock.” John said warningly.

“Its fine, John.” Mycroft stated as he stood from his perch on the chair and straightened his suit. “I will leave you two to talk.” 

John watched Mycroft as Sherlock glared at his brother. John gave Mycroft a small smile and noted the corners of Mycroft’s lips turn up in a small smile. They were pleased to be back in one another’s company, despite the posturing and pretending.. Sherlock rolled his eyes and moaned a bit with the pain it caused in his head. Mycroft left the room, shutting the door behind him, and Sherlock let out a breath.

“I thought he would never leave.” 

“Sherlock.” John warned mildly. “He saved your life. And brought me here. You need to show him a bit of appreciation.”

“Ha!” Sherlock spat.

“Sherlock.” John said as he ran a hand across his face. He was thrilled he was with him, that he was alive and here, but his patience was already wearing thin. 

“Alright.” Sherlock sighed. “I promise to be civil to him.”

“Thank you.” 

“John.” Sherlock said tenderly, and John smiled at him. He pulled the chair up to his bedside and grabbed his hand, careful of all the tubes and wires.

“Yes, love?” he answered.

“Love.” Sherlock said simply. “You love me.”

“Yes, you idiot. I do.”

“And you are here.”

“Obviously.” John chuckled. “And when you are better, we will go back to Baker Street.”

“That’s going to be interesting.” Sherlock said. John knitted his brow. “I’m dead, after all.”

“I’m sure Mycroft can sort all that out.”

“He will. But John, it’s not completely safe.”

“And I came when you said it could be dangerous.”

“That you did.” John smiled and watched Sherlock’s good eye flutter closed.

\---  
Sherlock walked gingerly up the seventeen stairs to 221B Baker Street and into the flat he never thought he would see again. He and John had been back in England for a week, staying at Mycroft’s house while Sherlock continued to recover after a fortnight in the hospital in Germany. John had convinced Sherlock that his plan of just showing up and revealing his presence to each of the people he saved was a poor idea. John advocated for Mycroft to bring Molly, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade to his home and to soften the blow of Sherlock’s secret to them over tea.

Mrs. Hudson sat on the sofa in Mycroft’s over stuffed sitting room and cried delicately into a handkerchief while, Molly just smiled and fussed over the last of the fading bruises and Sherlock’s shorn hair. Lestrade spit out curse after curse, smiling and shaking his head.

“So, it’s all over then?” he asked. 

Sherlock hesitated and looked to John for the answer. They had talked for hours in the hospital, Sherlock telling John everything and what still needed to be accomplished in order to completely destroy the web the Moriarty had built. But Sherlock thought it was better to keep their small disorganized family in the dark. John argued that it was better for them to know the risks that their lives still held. They had never come to a full consensus on the subject.

“Not really.” John said. “It’s safe enough. Sherlock needs some more time to recover and then we will finish this as a team.” 

Sherlock twisted his lips and left the room for a while with a limp. He wanted to go back out on his own and John screamed at him about it for a while in the hospital. He wasn’t letting Sherlock out of his sight again. 

Lestrade wanting more information had left it lie, knowing that Sherlock and John would be more willing to disclose the information without the women around.

Sherlock walked into the lounge at Baker Street and nearly fell onto the sofa. He was still easily tired and sore from the physical damage he had. John had taken most of the week that they were staying at Mycroft’s to run around London, moving his things back to Baker Street, having the flat cleaned, food brought in, resigning from the clinic. Sherlock hated when John was gone and craved his constant companionship. After the first restless night in Mycroft’s house, Sherlock had asked John to sleep in the overly large bed with him. John now stood on the threshold of the sitting room, watching Sherlock try to make himself comfortable. He wasn’t sure if sharing a bed was going to be something that was to be continued here.

Their relationship hadn’t moved forward at all. John still touched Sherlock often, but it was little lingering pats and hand holding. He kissed Sherlock’s head and temple when he left him or returned, but beyond that, there had been not further development. John knew that Sherlock still had a fair amount of healing to do and he wasn’t pushing it further at that moment. 

John shook his head and went to assist Sherlock in getting comfortable on the sofa. Sherlock grabbed his wrist when he tried to move away.

“Thank you.” Sherlock said simply, pressing his lips to John’s wrist.

“For what?”

“For coming home with me.”

John smiled and looked at Sherlock. “This is my home too.” Sherlock gave him a ‘just for John’ smile and let go of his wrist. “Tea?” John asked.

“God, yes.” Sherlock moaned. “You have no idea how I dreamed of your tea while I was away.” 

John chuckled as he went to the kitchen to make tea as he had a million times before. It felt natural and more relaxed than it had in a long time. John found himself humming a bit as he puttered around the kitchen, feeling sentimental in the routine. 

Handing Sherlock his cup, he took his own and settled into his chair. It felt right and perfect.

Sherlock was not a good patient, but fortunately for John, the pain medication that he had been supplied with was working well for Sherlock and John was able to coax him into his pajamas before too long. He also had a lot of experience with dealing with Sherlock’s medically compromised depressions.They agreed that take away was in order and before long it felt like old times. Before the fall. Before Moriarty. Those few short months when everything had been perfect between them.

John sat on the end of the sofa, Sherlock’s feet resting in his lap. They were half watching a movie on the tellie and John was beginning to doze. It had been a long day, finishing the last few tasks he needed to tend to in order to take Sherlock home. Sherlock had napped in fits throughout the day, thanks to the medications. John was concerned that if he didn’t get Sherlock into a proper bed soon, he was going to hurt far worse than he already did.

“Okay, that’s enough. Time for you to go to bed.” John said, pushing Sherlock’s feet off of him and standing. He offered Sherlock his hand and Sherlock swatted at it.

“No, you are not sleeping on the sofa. You are sleeping in your bed.” John said in a slightly admonishing tone.

“My bed.” Sherlock said. It was almost a moan. “I have forgotten how much I loved this flat.”

“So, there is a bed and you are going to make good use of it.” John said. Sherlock sat up tenderly, his hand clutching his side.

“And what about you? Where are you going to sleep?” Sherlock asked. John ducked his head and chewed on his cheek for a moment.

“I… I really haven’t…” he let out a small huff of breath.

“Really.”

“What?”

“Come to bed.” Sherlock said. 

It was that simple. All John’s fears and concerns melted away and he followed Sherlock into his bedroom off of the kitchen. A week of sleeping in the same bed at Mycroft’s had shown them that they already had preferred sides and John was careful not to crowd Sherlock as not to injure him further. But the bed at Mycroft’s was much larger than Sherlock’s. John wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t hurt Sherlock in his sleep. 

“Stop worrying and get in the bed.” Sherlock said sleepily.

John smiled and kissed Sherlock on the top of his head. He crawled between the sheets and lay his head against the fluffy pillow, staring at the ceiling. 

“Stop thinking and go to sleep.” Sherlock drawled. He rolled onto his side and found that Sherlock had done the same. Sherlock smiled at him. “Having you here, this feels…”

“Right.” John finished. He knew that it was. It was a secret in his mind that he had thought about for a long time. Laying in bed with Sherlock, in this bed, in Baker Street. Just the two of them. Nothing else in the world but the two of them. Sherlock’s hand came up and stroked the side of John’s face. Up until the moment he held onto John’s wrist earlier that day, John had been the person that was most physically demonstrative in the relationship. But Sherlock’s touch was gentle and John could feel the calluses on his long fingers as they traced a path along his cheek and jaw. John smiled at the touch and felt Sherlock inch closer. Their faces were just an inch apart.

“I’ve missed you.” Sherlock said.

“I haven’t left you for long in three weeks.” 

Sherlock smiled his smile that John read as everyone is an idiot, including you. “No, I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” John said, finally understanding what Sherlock was saying. John smiled a bit. Sherlock leaned in and they were sharing the same breath. Their lips were so close, but John wasn’t sure if Sherlock was ready to close that space. 

“I love you.” Sherlock said. John’s heart fluttered. Sherlock had said that he loved John a few times over the last weeks, but something about the three simple words, the pitch of his voice, the quiet of the room, the place… it was very tender and John felt his heart soar beyond London. Three words he wished he could hear from Sherlock’s mouth. In this room. In this bed. And it was coming true. He loved Sherlock and he was loved in return. It was almost more than he could bear. 

John closed the space between them, laying his lips on Sherlock’s kissing him tenderly and lovingly. Sherlock kissed him back. John felt the shift in Sherlock’s body, his long lanky form melting a bit into the bed. John pulled back and closed his eyes.

“Perfect.” Sherlock muttered. John kissed him again and settled his arm gently across Sherlock’s body.

“Is it okay?” he asked. Sherlock nodded.

“It’s better than okay. It’s perfect.” John smiled at the tenderness and closed his eyes. He was tired and knew that Sherlock was also slipping into sleep. They lay together in the bed, letting sleep claim them both. 

John awoke to the heat in the bed. He wasn’t sure why he was so hot, but he was. It took a moment for his brain to catch up with the rest of him and he realized that he was hot because there was a recently dead consulting detective wrapped around him like a boa constrictor. John smiled and moved his hand so it ran down Sherlock’s back. Sherlock’s head was resting on John’s and his chest was half covering John’s torso. He had his arms wrapped around John’s waist and his legs were somewhere else in the bed. 

“Sherlock, love.” John said gently. “I need to get up.”

“M’sleepin.” Sherlock answered in a deep voice that was thick with slumber.

“I know love. But I need to use the loo.” Sherlock made a muffled noise that sounded an awful lot like transport to John’s ears, but after a kiss to John’s stomach, Sherlock gingerly rolled to his side and pulled the duvet completely from the bed and around himself. 

John chuckled as he rose from the bed, looking at the clock as he did. His eyes grew wide and he was amazed that they both slept as long as they had. John went to the loo and after washing his hands he stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to decide if he wanted to get back into bed with Sherlock’s now curled up form or start on something for the both of them to eat. Sherlock’s muffled tea demand settled the argument for him and he walked into the kitchen to flick the kettle on.

Sherlock shuffled in after a while and the duvet still wrapped around him. He flopped gently into a chair and John smiled as he handed him tea and toast.

“All right then?” he asked. He felt better himself than he had in a while and wondered how long he slept with Sherlock’s body attached to his.

“Better than I have in a while. It’s good to be home.” Sherlock admitted with a shrug. 

“I hope I didn’t hurt you in my sleep.” John said. “The bed at Mycroft’s was larger.”

“But this is home.”

“That it is.” John chewed on his toast and decided that a shower was in order and dressing for the day. He was sure that Lestrade would be paying them a visit before the day was out and he wanted to be a normal as he could be. He hoped that he could coax Sherlock into a shower and he needed to check his wounds over.

Sherlock moved from the kitchen to the sofa while John was in the shower and John ducked his head into the sitting room on his way to go up to dress. Sherlock met his eyes as he looked at him and went back to whatever he was doing on his phone. John shrugged and went up to dress.

Being back in his old room was strange for him. Everything there was the same as it was when he was living there full time. John sat on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes. He could almost feel as if the last year hadn’t happened at all. But it had and things were different between him and Sherlock. They weren’t lovers, yet at John’s hopeful wishing, but they were together, sharing a bed and had at least cleared the air between them about their feelings for each other. John pulled on his clothes and thought about all the unanswered questions that lingered in his brain. Was this all the relationship between he and Sherlock was ever going to be? Was this all Sherlock could ever tolerate as a couple? John shook his head, as he didn’t have the answers and wasn’t sure where to begin the conversations about it. He pulled on his socks and decided that if nothing else he needed to write down some of his thoughts. Doing so often made it easier for him to puzzle out his confused thoughts. 

Sherlock lounged for the majority of the morning, only moving to take his medication and to use the loo. John pulled out his laptop and decided to check his email. He had used the tablet that Mycroft had given him to keep in touch with a few people while they were in Germany, but it had been a week since he checked his in box. He wrote a few letters to his friends and his sister, trying to be careful with his words. He knew that Sherlock wasn’t ready to come back to life to majority of the world. Mycroft was beginning the process of making him alive again and was working on clearing his name for the papers.

John opened a blank email and out of habit addressed it to Sherlock. He just wanted to organize his thoughts. And he wouldn’t send it. Just erase it later. He typed for a while and closed his laptop lid, rising to make himself and Sherlock some lunch.

Mrs. Hudson came up to the flat, just after lunch and asked John for some help. She needed a few boxes moved and Sherlock waved his hand at him to go and help their landlady. As soon as John was out of the room, Sherlock stole his laptop and opened it.

John came back half an hour later to see that Sherlock was looking something up on his laptop and shook his head to hide his smile. Everything was seeming so normal. He headed to the kitchen to finish the washing up.

“John?” Sherlock called from the sofa.

“Yeah?”

“Did you send me an email?”

“Not in over a month. Why?” John asked.

“Well, there is an email from you in my inbox.” Sherlock said. John almost dropped the dish he was holding.

“Shit. Sherlock. Don’t read that. Please.” he said, his voice cracking. Sherlock looked up at John and narrowed his eyes. “My program must have sent it when you opened the computer. Please. Don’t read it. Delete it.”

“Too late.” Sherlock said. John scrubbed a wet hand over his face. He put the plate on the drain board, his mind whirling around the thoughts he had put into the email and he definitely didn’t want Sherlock to read it. He also didn’t want to be there while he did.

John made it to the sitting room, pulled on his shoes, grabbed his keys and his mobile. “Going out for…” he didn’t finish the sentence before leaving the room and all but running out of the flat.

Sherlock watched John go and decided that it was too late. He had opened the email and he decided that he was going to read it now.

“Sherlock,  
It’s been just over a month since I sent my last email to your account and so much has happened since then. You are laying on the sofa, here at Baker Street as if nothing had changed. But everything has. True, a fair amount of things still feel like they did a year ago. You are alive. You are here and I am living in Baker Street again with you. I never thought that this was possible. I wished. Oh God, how I wished for this. Every night before I closed my eyes. Every morning when I awoke. And now, through the fates, or whatever, we both know how we feel about each other.  
But what has that information brought us? Other than a few kisses and sharing a bed, nothing really has changed. I love you. I have loved you for a long time and you love me. You told me that. And if nothing more comes of that knowledge, I can live with it. It doesn’t mean that it’s all I want. But I could live with it. The knowledge alone is very powerful. Heady even. But I want so much more.  
This morning, for a moment before I woke you, I felt as if all the world was right. Your head was on my chest and you were holding me for dear life. Your long arms were wrapped around my waist. It was a fantastic way to wake up. But I wasn’t sure that it was something you consciously wanted. Other than the kiss you gave me on my stomach this morning, and the kiss we shared last night, there has been no affection from you.  
I’m not complaining. Just pointing this fact out. You are a beautiful mad creature. But my mind can’t stop thinking about what more there could be and what more you want to give. If anything. If sharing your bed and being able to kiss you from time to time is all you can give me, I will still be a happy man.  
I’m sorry. I am only writing this, because I am crap at trying to express all this aloud and I don’t know where to begin. I am hoping that writing it down will help me organize my spinning head some.  
Sherlock, I love you and you love me. I know that it is enough for me and I hope that it is for you as well.  
Yours~   
John.”

 

Sherlock closed the lid on the laptop and sighed. He had been so focused on his own pain, he hadn’t noticed John’s. He picked up his mobile and sent out a text.  
“Where are you?” John’s text didn’t come for three whole minutes.

“Walking. You read it all then?”

“Four times. When are you coming home?” John must have been thinking because Sherlock’s mobile didn’t ping with a new text for five minutes.

“Later. I can’t… not right now.”

“John.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock typed out, his fingers, firm in their motions and hit send. John’s response was long in coming and Sherlock began to feel fear for the first time since he came to in the hospital in Germany.

“For what?”

“For not recognizing you were in pain too. There is so much I want to tell you. So much I need to say. So much I need to make amends for.” Sherlock hit each letter with purpose and hit send. He chewed on his plush lower lip while he waited for John to respond.

“Are you cracked?”

“Not any more than usual.” Sherlock responded. The smile on his face faded as quickly as it had come. “Please come home.”

“I don’t know if I can…”

“Please.” Sherlock was sure that this would make John waiver. “I love you. And as your… Sherlock, I have been very remiss in reminding you of this.”

“I’m coming home to check if you have a fever. You are starting to worry me.” John’s message read.

“Believe me John, I am fine. I just want have you home so that I might kiss you. Properly.” John did not text him back. Sherlock got up from the sofa and paced as best he could around the sitting room. He was worried. He was almost dialing Mycroft when he heard the door open and shut downstairs. He heard John’s familiar tread on the stairs he burst through the door.

“What the hell?” John yelled. Sherlock crossed the room in three tentative strides, took John by the coat and pushed him against the door. He closed the space between them and pressed his lips against John’s. John was stunned and after a split second John yielded into the kiss. After a moment, John felt Sherlock’s tongue tracing his lips. John opened his mouth a bit and Sherlock’s tongue began to explore the inside of John’s mouth and John found himself emitting a low moan in the back of his throat. Sherlock’s tongue was soft and demanding against his own. Sherlock pulled John’s waist against himself with a little force and Sherlock let out a bit of a whimper at the shock of pain he had caused himself. He stopped kissing John for a moment to regain control of it.

“Sherlock, are you alright?” John asked as he pressed his head against Sherlock’s.

“I am fine.” Sherlock spit out. “Just over estimated the amount of healing.”

“Sherlock, if you are in pain… sit.” John said. 

Sherlock took a moment to breath and did as his doctor suggested, pulling him by the hand to sit next to him on the sofa. Sherlock rested back against the cushions and closed his eyes. “So, would you like to explain what just happened?”

Sherlock gave him one of his patented ‘The entire world is populated by idiots’ looks. John placed his fingers on Sherlock’s wrist and noted that his pulse was higher than normal. But he wasn’t s sure if this was because he was aroused or in pain. 

“Are you in pain? You want something for it?” John asked. Sherlock shook his head.

“I can’t keep taking the medication. It’s dulling my brain.” Sherlock said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He licked his lips and turned to John. “I am sorry.”  
“For what?” John asked. 

“For not realizing that you have been in pain, too.” Sherlock said, his voice barely a whisper. John tilted his head at Sherlock and looked at him, confused.

Sherlock threaded his arms around John and pulled him close. He let his body rest against John’s and John felt the tension in his arms and back. He rubbed Sherlock’s arms a bit and let his cheek rest against Sherlock’s head. Sherlock let out a deep sigh and willed the anxiety to leave him. John relaxed into the cushions a bit and they just held each other for several minutes.

“What I don’t understand John, is why you find it easier to talk to me when you are behind your computer.” Sherlock mumbled into John’s neck. John shrugged a bit.

“I don’t know why either.” he offered. When Sherlock didn’t respond John cleared his throat. “I guess… maybe it has something to do with the fact that originally I thought that I was talking to no one. And I was just writing the email today to try and straighten out the jumble of thoughts in my head. I didn’t intend for you to see it.”

“I know.” Sherlock said. He pulled back from John a bit and looked him in the eye. “But I am glad I did.”

John nodded in a slightly embarrassed way and Sherlock kissed him. It was a gentler kiss. One with love and tenderness behind it and Sherlock placed his head back on John’s shoulder. “Tea and medicine, please.” John ran his hand over Sherlock’s back again and nodded. He untangled himself from Sherlock, shed his jacket and shoes and went to make a cup of tea for each of them.

Sherlock shifted his stiff and aching body onto the sofa and waited for John. “You know I want it all.” he said after a bit.

“Want all of what?” John asked. He was used to Sherlock picking out random thoughts and expressing them. He often wondered if Sherlock was having conversations in his head with people and only said things out loud when he was stymied for an appropriate response from them. This was one of those times. It made it easier in a way for John, once he figured out the thread of the conversation or the topic at hand.

“Everything you want. I want a more… something. I have a relationship with you already. I want more.”

“Yeah. Good.” John answered from the kitchen. 

John finished the tea without another word, turning over everything Sherlock just told him in his head. He brought out the cups and handed one to Sherlock along with a pain pill. Sherlock took the pill and the cup and swallowed them both down. He made a grateful noise of appreciation at both items and John swatted at his feet for him to move so that John could sit at the other end of the sofa. Sherlock obliged by holding his feet up in the air and resting them on John’s lap once he was settled. John found his hand settling on Sherlock’s calf, his fingers making small rubbing circles.

They sat in a companionable silence for a while, drinking their tea and just sitting together on the sofa. Sherlock placed his empty mug on the table and John placed his on the floor next to the sofa. He resumed his aimless motion on Sherlock’s calf.

“The thing is that I’m rubbish at relationships.” John said after a bit. Sherlock made a noise akin to a humming agreement. “And I’m no good at emotional stuff either.”

“And I’m so much better?” Sherlock asked plainly. John chuckled a bit.

“No, I guess you aren’t.” John shifted a bit so he could look at Sherlock’s face. “Have you ever… um… when you were…” John couldn’t find the right words to ask the questions he wanted answers to. Sherlock rolled his eyes at John and he took in a deep breath.

“Contrary to what my brother and The Woman think, I am not a virgin. I have had sex. I was even in a relationship once. But it was a disaster from the start. More my choice of companion than myself, if you can believe it.” John nodded and processed this information. “But I think John, that you are the exception to every rule I know. You are the one that keeps me right. And our relationship has already been established. The only thing ever missing from it was trite words of sentiment and physical relations.”

John blushed and coughed at the frankness of Sherlock’s words. Sherlock smiled a bit at John and John closed his eyes. 

“You do realize that those trite words of sentiment as you put it, helps in a relationship, right?”

“So I have been told. But you do realize that I never say anything I do not mean. In one way or another.” John nodded his head. “So, when I tell you that I love you, I mean it with everything in my being.”

“I know, Sherlock. I know.” John smiled at Sherlock and Sherlock rolled his eyes at John. 

“Can we not repeat this conversation again?”

“I’ll try.” John stated. “In exchange for two things.”

“What is that?” Sherlock asked, his interest piqued.

“You are obligated to tell me your sentimental trite from time to time. It’s not only nice to hear it, but it may save me from killing you with my bare hands a time or two.”

“Fine.” Sherlock huffed in mock annoyance. “But you must reciprocate.”

“I will.”

“And the second thing?”

“You need to try to work with me. Neither one of us has a decent track record in relationships. And yes, before you say anything,” John continued as Sherlock opened his mouth to say something. Sherlock closed his jaw in order to let John finish, “we are both rubbish at this and talking will be hard. But we need to make sure that we work on this.” John waved a hand between himself and Sherlock. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“Nor I.”

“So, right. Then that’s all settled.”

“And just in time.” Sherlock said, sitting up and stealing a kiss from John. 

He flopped back onto the sofa with less than his usual grace and poise. John could see the blurred edges of Sherlock’s resolve and the pain that he was trying to hide. He cocked his head at the sound of the door opening and closing down at the bottom of the stairs. John tried to shift so that Sherlock’s feet were not sitting directly over his crotch, but Sherlock would not budge. John sighed and resumed his tracing of various designs on Sherlock’s leg. He listened to the footsteps on the stairs. The tell tale creaks were ignored and John realized it was Mycroft. He didn’t care at that point where he was sitting. Mycroft had seen much worse in the week that they had stayed at his home and in the hospital in Germany.

“Mycroft.” John said with a firm nod of his head.

“John.” Mycroft responded. Sherlock groaned at his brother and Mycroft gave him a small smile. “Brother.”

“What do you want?” Sherlock asked indignantly.

“Now, now. Is there a need for such histrionics? I simply came to bring you an advanced copy of the story that will be running in the papers tomorrow, clearing your name. And the official court documents stating the same. Next week we can revive your life.” He held out a folder to his brother. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but took the file from his brother anyways.

“Thank you, Mycroft.” John said for Sherlock. He gave Sherlock a pointed jab in his calf and Sherlock yelped a bit.

“Yes, thank you for bringing this all the way over here and having to run past the bakery on your way.” Sherlock said. “I see that not having us at your house has allowed you to resume your normal diet again.” Mycroft’s lips were pressed into a thin line. Sherlock took a long look at his brother. “You are hiding something.” John chuckled a bit.

“It’s that standard for Mycroft?” John asked. Sherlock worried his lip for a moment. 

“No. This is something else.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his older brother and Mycroft kept his face neutral. John shook his head.

“Is there anything else?” John asked. Mycroft gave a slight lift of his chin. He looked down his nose at his brother. 

“No. Not at the moment. I will return in the next few days with the last of the papers to reinstate your existence.” Mycroft said. 

Sherlock continued to glare at his brother. Mycroft tightened his hands on his umbrella handle, his only tell that Sherlock was hitting a nerve close to home. Sherlock lay his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes. John nodded at Mycroft as he turned on his heel and left. John settled back into the sofa and put his feet up on the coffee table. He picked up the files from Sherlock’s lap and began to read them. 

Sherlock shifted a bit and he waited for John to acknowledge him.

“What?” John asked after a minute.

“What is he hiding?” Sherlock asked, worried about what his brother was trying to cover up more than the elaborately planned out story to clear his name and reinstate his life.

“I don’t know, Sherlock. I never know with your brother. Maybe he has a girlfriend and he was happy to see her again after we left.” John mused. Sherlock sat up quickly and moaned at the sudden change in position.

“Shit.” He said holding out a hand to the back of the sofa. “But I think you have it right. Well, mostly right.”

“What?” John asked.

“Well, Mycroft is seeing someone. But not a woman. He is as gay as a parade float.” Sherlock spat out. He regained his balance as the pain subsided some. “But he must be seeing someone.”

“So what?” John shrugged. “You are seeing someone too, you know.”

“I am no… oh.” Sherlock said, not realizing that John was implying their relationship. “This is different.”

“How is our relationship different than one that your brother is in?” John asked. He was not upset at the fact Sherlock didn’t think about their relationship when he began to speak. He was used to Sherlock’s gut reactions when he opened his mouth. But on this subject, he was curious.

“We have been in a relationship for years. This is new to Mycroft. I have only seen him in one other one. And that was a disaster. His only attempt at dating while we were at Eton together.” Sherlock drawled.

“You must have been young.” John pointed out. Sherlock settled back into the sofa and John let the conversation drop while he read through the rest of the statement. Sherlock was trying to remember the time at Eton as he deleted most of it.

“I was about nine. That made Mycroft sixteen. It was a girl. The one and only as far as I know.” Sherlock said after a while. John shifted his hand to Sherlock’s leg again and rubbed gently as he spoke. “I don’t remember the details, just that Mycroft was upset and went home for the weekend after she broke up with him. I didn’t go.”

“Did he go home without you often?” John asked absently. Sherlock shook his head.

“No. Rarely. Mummy thought it would be better if I wasn’t there. I couldn’t care less.” Sherlock said. 

They fell back into a quiet and easy time and Sherlock dozed a bit from his medication. John read some more of his book and after two hours, needed to get up and stretch. His shoulder was bothering him and he was hungry. He gently took Sherlock’s legs and shifted them so he could get up. Sherlock murmured in his sleep and John bent down to kiss his forehead and brush back his fringe before going to the loo and the kitchen. Sherlock woke up from his doze when John was in the loo.  
Sherlock picked up John’s laptop while John was in the kitchen. He opened up his email and began to type a message.

“What are you looking at?” John asked Sherlock from the kitchen when he heard the click of the keyboard.

“Nothing. Just sending out a few emails.” Sherlock said. John nodded, turning back to his tasks. 

John came back into the sitting room with a small sandwich for each of them and some more medication for Sherlock. He handed him the pills with a glass of water that he drained in one go.

“Please eat. The medication doesn’t need food, but it works better with it.” John said. Sherlock shifted so he was sitting upright, but he leaned against John as he ate part of the sandwich. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Sherlock said genuinely. He put his plate on the table, wincing at the pull and strain of his healing wounds. 

“A shower might help to loosen you up some.” John offered to Sherlock when he noted the stiffness of his movements.

“A shower.” Sherlock mused. “You might be right.” John nodded.

“Do you need any help?” he asked.

Sherlock shook his head and gingerly moved from the sofa. The pain medication helped with the pain, but it also left him with compromised balance and slightly double vision. He held onto the wall for a moment as it passed and waved his hand at John when he attempted to get up from the sofa to assist him.

“I’m fine.” he said to John. He was gritting his teeth a bit, but John backed off, knowing that Sherlock would ask for help if he needed it. “I think I shall return to bed for a while after my shower.”

“Good idea.” John said.

Sherlock moved down the hall and John took their plates and glasses into the kitchen. He pitched them into the sink, figuring he could do the washing up later. He sat down on the sofa again, keeping his ear open for Sherlock in the bathroom. He heard the taps go on and the change in the sound as Sherlock entered the stream of water. He picked up his laptop and opened up his email to see one in his in box. He clicked on it, finding it was from Sherlock.

“John,  
A month ago, you thought I was dead as that was my intention. One night out with Molly and a simple conversation revealed a large secret. Your email that day stopped my heart. I had never expected to hear from you again and each and every email you sent to my account reminded me why I was fighting.   
There were days I wanted to drop everything and rush back to you. To dial your number and hear your voice, even if I didn’t say a word. I wanted to come back to London to see you again. Just to see with my own eyes that you were alive and living and my choices were not purely selfish.  
I yearned for your emails. They kept me from going mad. There were times that I thought I wouldn’t last another day, that I would be dead by morning. But then I would see another email from you and I resolved to finish what I had started, if for nothing more than to keep you safe and alive.  
I regret not telling you how much I care for you before Moriarty started his game with us. I regret not telling you in small words how I feel. And I won’t tell you everyday. At least not in words. I know that you love me and I do as well. And I hope that you will understand the ways I show you.  
When your first email came to me, I thought that it was stupid. Plain and simple. That Ella was trying to get you to do something so pedestrian and to form fit you into a treatment plan that was laid out for the masses. But John, you never fit into any box anyone could make. You are unique and that’s one of the many reasons I love you. But each email saved me too. And she was right. It helped us both.  
It is easier to talk to you about things like this in this way. I understand that now.  
I shall finish this now, as you are about to come in here with some food and you will want me to eat and take some medication. I might not say it often, if ever, but I do appreciate your fussing. I know you care.   
Thank you.

With all my heart and love,  
Yours~   
Sherlock”

John closed his laptop with a click after reading the email through three times and placed it on the sofa next to him. He heard Sherlock shuffling around the bedroom getting dressed and into the bed. He scrubbed his hand over his face and found that there was a bit of moisture on his hand. He blinked his eyes a few times and noticed he was crying. 

Sherlock was a man of many words. Most of them were insulting and condescending. But he did have moments of tenderness too. And the email sitting on a server somewhere was proof of them. John looked at his watch and decided that he had enough of being up for the day. He went up to his room and changed into his soft flannel pants and pulled on an old tee shirt he usually slept in. He turned off the lights in the flat as he moved through the rooms, locking doors and putting things to right for the evening. He filled two glasses with water and grabbed the rest of the pain medication from the counter in the kitchen before heading to the bedroom.

The light was low in the back room and he could make out Sherlock’s mass on the far left side of the bed under the duvet. His breathing was the only sound in the room and it was even and calm. John went around the side of the bed, placing the water for Sherlock there. He rested his hand on the top of Sherlock’s head and brushed the wet curls out of his face.

“All right then?” he asked Sherlock quietly.

“Yes.” Sherlock answered, his voice thick and syrupy.

John walked around to his side of the bed and pulled back the duvet and sat on the edge. He kept his back to Sherlock.

“Thank you for the email.” he said. Sherlock made a noise that could be positive and John smiled. He knew that Sherlock was groggy from the medication and most likely close to sleep. He rolled onto his back as he lay down, pulling the covers up over himself and settled against the soft mattress.

“I meant every word.” Sherlock said. John smiled in the dark.

“I know.” he answered.

Sherlock hummed again and shifted closer to John. John rolled to his side so he was facing Sherlock and brought his hand to Sherlock’s face. He used his fingers to gently trace the outline of Sherlock’s face, smoothing out any places that felt tense and worried. He felt Sherlock give him a small smile at his touch and John leaned in for a little kiss on his lips.

“May I ask you for a favor?” John kept his voice low and soft. Sherlock hummed. “If you can tolerate it, I would very much like to hold you for a while.”

“That would be… nice.” Sherlock said. “I can sleep comfortably on my right. If you… that is…” 

John kissed Sherlock again and Sherlock shifted to lay on his right side. John came up behind him and pulled him a bit closer to his front. They naturally slotted their legs together and John wrapped his right arm over Sherlock’s waist. He rested his left arm under Sherlock’s neck and Sherlock brought his hand up to entwine his fingers with John’s. 

“I have never really shared a bed with someone like this before.” Sherlock offered. “I like it.”

“Good.” John said. He lay a few kisses at the nape of Sherlock’s neck and rested his face against his back. 

Sherlock’s breathing evened out after some time and he fell lax in John’s arms. 

“I love you. Thank you for coming home.” John said into Sherlock’s back as he fell asleep.

 

Sherlock mended day by day and he and John fell into an easy rhythm in their domestic life. Not a lot had changed between them since they returned to Baker Street. They shared a bed and after a bit of fussing on Sherlock’s part, John’s things were brought down to the bedroom they now shared. And other than a few cuddling sessions in bed and on the sofa, their physical relationship had not moved beyond the kissing and gentle touches they both had come to crave.

Three weeks from their return from Germany had seen little in their day to day routine. Mycroft had finally finished the paperwork to declare Sherlock officially alive again and Sherlock was considering an official announcement on his blog. John and Lestrade had both argued that an entry on John’s blog was far more appropriate. Sherlock huffed and lay on the sofa for the rest of the day after the conversation, in a strop. Deep in his heart, he knew that they were both right, but he didn’t want to admit it to either one of them.

Sherlock felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket with an email alert. He pulled it out of his pocket and read through the email. John had stepped into the shower and he was alone for a rare moment.

“June 23, 2012  
Eleven days ago would have been the one year anniversary of the death of Sherlock Holmes. It was a Tuesday and most of London, as most of the world kept on turning. Six months ago, if you had asked me where I would be on that date, I would be almost frightened to give you an answer. I was muddling through life, the best that I could. My best friend and the one person I cared about more than anything was gone from this world too soon. But things have changed, as life often does.  
Six weeks ago I was out for a pint with a friend. A friend to both Sherlock and myself. This friend, who knows who they are, let me in on a secret. A secret that both made me upset and overjoyed at the same time. But as lives were dependent on this secret being kept, I only told two people that I knew. These two people were already in on the secret.  
This secret was not earth shattering to the general public, but to me it was. And after a very short period of time, I received a phone call. Not the one I was expecting, but in the same moment, it was a phone call that changed my life forever.  
For those of you who know me personally, you know that I am the most straightforward type of bloke. I don’t dance around who I am. I have been in love with someone for quite some time now, and it took me forever to realize it. And I wasn’t sure if that my feelings would be reciprocated. So, I never said anything to the object of my adoration. It turns out that I am an idiot.   
Six weeks ago I found myself, sitting in a small military hospital out of the country. I won’t say where. It doesn’t matter. My army mates know as well as I do that one military hospital looks the same as the next. But laying in the bed, was the one person I love more than life itself. The one person I had considered killing myself for.   
( Now, before you all get righteously upset, I am not suicidal. I was for a while. But I kept on at it. And I am glad that I have. )  
After spending two weeks abroad and one week here in country, I came home. To Baker Street. With the love of my life.  
What was the secret you ask? Who is my love? Well, that’s really the kicker. The part most of you won’t believe. I will tell you this first. This person is the most brilliant, mad, fantastic human I have ever met. And they feel the same for me as I do them.  
The secret? The love? Well, to be honest it’s all the same answer.  
Sherlock Holmes.  
I will let him tell you of his adventures or his reasons for doing what he did. But trust in the fact he is alive and well and I love the madman. We will not be taking private clients for at least another month, as we both need some more time. And hopefully in that time, we will be allowed to assist New Scotland Yard with cases. Until then, thank you for believing in Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock read the message and looked for the personal note John placed at the bottom.

“Thinking of this for the blog. What do you think? ~ J”

Sherlock closed the screen on his phone and his ire with John was gone. He was right and Sherlock knew that the prose and praise that John had passed on to his loyal blog readers was not only overly emotional and very poignant. He listened for John to turn off the taps in the shower and moved to the desk to pull out his laptop. He opened his computer and after a few key strokes he closed the lid again. He stretched a bit in the chair he was sitting in, inventorying his still healing injuries. He hadn’t taken pain medication in over a week and although he still tired easily, he was well on the mend. He had even managed to go to Speedy’s for a bite with John the day before. 

John heard the text alerts on his phone and his email notification suddenly making a lot of noise. He toweled off his hair and wrapped a towel around his waist. Moving into the bedroom, he found his mobile and began to read off the messages.

Three texts from Mike Stamford, seven from his sister, two from Sarah and his email had twenty new notifications. He started with Mike’s texts as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Great news! So happy for you.”

“We need to grab a pint soon.”

“Let me know when. Congratulations.”

John shook his head and wondered what it was all about. It was reading Harry’s texts that cemented it all for him.

“You are kidding me!”

“He’s alive?”

“You are shagging him?”

“Wait, since when are you gay?”

“He put you through hell and you took him back?”

“Johnny, are you sure about this?”

“I guess if you are happy… call me.”

John smirked a bit and looked at the last two from Sarah.

“Friend in an accident. Should have known.”

“We still could use you when you are ready. I’m glad you are happy.”

John pulled on his most comfortable sleep pants and tee shirt and shuffled out to the sitting room to get his laptop. It would be easier to read the emails on his computer than on the tiny phone screen.

“Posted it, did you?” John asked as he crossed the room. 

Sherlock made a hmmm noise and resumed his scrolling on his phone. John picked up his laptop and sat cross legged in his chair. He balanced it on his lap and opened his email. He dismissed most of them as notifications for comments on his blog. A few were spam and a few were other notifications from other sites. He closed down the application and opened his blog to read the comments. Most of them were well wishes and congratulatory, a few not so nice and John deleted them. But there was one that stood out.

“ Yes, you are an idiot, but so it seems am I. It is good to be home and alive. Thank you for believing in me. I love you. ~ Sherlock Holmes.”

John smiled and looked over at Sherlock. He powered down his phone and closed his laptop, putting them both to the side. He crossed the room and took Sherlock’s phone from his hands, turning it off and placing it on the table.

“Budge up.” he said. Sherlock lifted his feet and swung them to the side. John sat down on the sofa and Sherlock curled into him.

“Are you upset with me?” Sherlock asked. “That I posted it?”

“Not at all, love.” John said wrapping his arms around Sherlock. “I’m glad you thought enough of it to do so.”

“I meant what I said.”

“As did I.” John answered. Sherlock smiled. “We seem to communicate the best through our computers.”

“We do.” Sherlock agreed. He leaned in for a kiss and John rewarded him with one.


End file.
